


The Beginning

by Cannibalized_Society



Category: Marvel (Comics), Norse Religion & Lore, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Animal Transformation, Asgard, Asgardian Loki, Bisexual Male Character, F/M, Loki Angst, Loki Feels, Loki Needs a Hug, Loki's Kids, M/M, Magic, Oblivious Thor, Odin's A+ Parenting, Other, Shapeshifting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-16
Updated: 2014-06-07
Packaged: 2018-01-25 01:03:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,101
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1623368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cannibalized_Society/pseuds/Cannibalized_Society
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki was forged in the fires of chaos while all of Asgard served as a hammer the shape him into a god with a razor-sharp tongue of pure silver.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Magic and Mischief

**Author's Note:**

> The characters here are purely fictional and any resemblance to a person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. I don't make any money from my writing (boo), as most of the thoughts in my head are simply headcanon of established characters. There are no active pairings as of yet, but stick around...there's more.

Loki Odinson began life in a time of chaos. Many would say that was what formed him into the chaotic creature he would later become. It was difficult to know if that, more than anything, had a hand in shaping him. As a child he was playful, quick to smile, and attached himself to his elder brother easily. Yet, even when he was a boy, something about him didn't fit quite right. He was reminded of it often in trying to stay near Thor. Children's voices rang in his head with the purity of truth.

_"Thor! Come play with us!"_

_"Thor, you be Odin and smash the frost giants!"_

_"Oh, Loki is playing too? What's he going to do?"_

_"Ugh, so boring..."_

_"Why does he always follow you?"_

Eventually he learned that his place was not with those children. They had no appreciation for jokes or games. They wanted to spar or wrestle, an activity that he did not enjoy in the least. He abandoned Thor and spent time in the palace. In an attempt to entertain him and soothe the sting left by isolation, Frigga showed him magic. He became curious. He saw something he wanted and spent more and more time at Frigga's side to see it. Eventually his desire for magic took over and became an obsession. His hunger for knowledge was a gift. He bonded with Frigga, his love for her melding with his innate talents as a magic-user. She praised his gifts, telling him how smart he was, how unique his affinity for the magic was. She made him feel just as treasured for his intelligence as Thor was for his strength. Odin seemed devoid of interest in him, a sentiment that Loki watched turn into frustration as his magic grew.

" _You coddle the boy too much, Frigga...teaching him a woman's ways...might as well teach him embroidery as well!"_ He could remember hearing Odin say, but he'd ignored it. She coddled Thor, how was it wrong for him? He learned. He practiced. Despite Odin's assurance that his skills were cowardly and deceitful he continued, unhindered, until he had become a man. Although he'd been tempted to take up needlework just to irritate Odin he instead took the tactical lessons offered. He was not interested in becoming a warrior, but he learned all the same. He did not want to seem weak if he was chosen to become king. He learned how to use a dagger in a way that was feared. He never missed. He was strong enough to wield any weapon placed in his hands. Despite all his skills in the field of battle, his triumphs when challenged, he could never defeat Thor, Odin, or any of the Warriors Three. It seemed that until he could best one of them in battle he would never join them as a companion. In time he resigned himself to that and returned to his studies of magic.

His magic was whispered about. He became a man that was feared, but not respected. He played games a time or two. Others had sometimes been hurt during the games. He'd apologized. He'd been punished, even. All of the struggle for acceptance meant nothing. He was nothing more than a deceitful tag-along, his tongue sharper than any blade he wielded. _Trickster_ , they called him. He accepted the name with a nod, letting his penchant for mischief keep him from dwelling upon their inability to handle a joke or two.

As he grew older Odin looked upon him as something reprehensible. He and Thor still played the games at times but it always seemed that Odin punished Loki while allowing Thor to shrug off responsibility for his part in the game. It was infuriating. The trouble of being the younger son, no doubt. He only realized the full depth of Odin's hatred for him whenever a man made a wager with Odin about a wall. If the builder could build a wall circling Asgard then the King would allow the giant to marry Freyja whilst controlling the suns and moons of Midgard. Odin agreed to the challenge, full of confidence and pride, allowing the man only three seasons to complete the wall and stipulating that no man could work beside him. The man asked that he should be allowed to have his horse with him to labor. Odin hesitated. Loki gleefully pointed out "Father, it is only a horse. What harm will that do?" This was a game that he could play with his Father now. He could spy on the builder, impede his progress, and he and Odin would laugh of the builder's inferiority when the barter was won. A whole three seasons to bond!

Within five months the walls of Asgard were nearly complete and Odin's confidence began to waver. Loki was secretly pleased by this despite the collapse of the game. Odin had no interest in gaming with him, therefore he'd lost interest in the builder's activities long ago. Seeing that the builder was so adept to prove more of a challenge to the gods, brought Loki's attentions around again. After the rejection of the initial game he was eager to watch his father humbled. Thor then said that he'd cripple the builder, a heavy-handed solution to the problem, but Odin approved it. It seemed that Odin would sacrifice fairness in the pursuit of righteousness. Odin was always right, even if that meant broken bones and bodies piled at his feet. Despite all his desire to see Odin humbled, his jealousy of Thor won the day and he swore that he would be the one to stop the builder's progress. He said that he'd find a way to distract the builder and hinder his progress long enough to win the bet while maintaining Asgard's fairness in the eyes of the other gods. Odin accepted his offer to stop the wall's completion, but saw through him easily. Odin stated that should he fail, his skull would be crushed between two bricks to make a mortar. If ever he'd been motivated to succeed, that image completed his resolve.

Loki tried many things to distract the builder. Jokes. Music. Pranks.

Nothing stopped him.

Two days before his deadline Loki realized that the builder's stallion, Svaðilfari, would continue to work, pulling stones from the quarry, whilst the man slept. With the stone available, the builder would work while the horse rested. The two were an unstoppable pair. With Odin's sentence looming over him Loki put in a last bid to stop the man's work. He'd seen Odin's eyes when the threat of bloody death was levied upon him. There was no sentiment within Odin that would spare him if he should fail. For the first time real fear entered the game, causing Loki to make a desperate move.

As Svaðilfari toiled to bring stones to his master, a mare burst from the wood, calling out to the stallion beseechingly. Svaðilfari returned the cry, struggling free of his tack and bridle, leaving his burden to chase the mare through the wood. Waking that morning the builder realized that his horse had run away, nowhere to be seen, and that no stones were ready. He searched the woods. Neither Svaðilfari nor the mare could be found. The builder chose to continue the work without Svaðilfari, taking his native form to carry the stones. Unfortunate for the builder that he was Jotun, of deep sapphire flesh and crimson gaze. Being so close to Asgard proved fatal. Odin, seeing what the builder truly was, allowed the walls to be completed with no intention to honor their wager. When the builder came for his reward Odin had his skull shattered and his body thrown from the bifrost into Jotunheim as a message to all other frost giants that would deceive them.

Loki had been horrified and angry at the builder's fate. Mostly that he'd gone to so much effort for no reason and that Odin still looked upon him as a failure. He realized within a month that his bid to distract Svaðilfari had been a bit too much, with unexpected consequences. There had been a change in his body that he'd not foreseen. Soon after learning the builder's fate he disappeared from Asgard, presumably in shame for his failure. In truth, he left to the woods once more, taking the form of the mare he'd become to distract Svaðilfari. It was difficult to remain himself over the months that passed. His mind often slipped into the simple thoughts of a horse carrying foal. He forgot books and magic for a time, so focused upon feeding the life within him and remaining safe from predators. Ironically, he found solace near the walls of Asgard, as they were charmed to keep predators of all kinds at bay. Nearly a year later passed before Loki's time arrived. Giving birth allowed him to remember who he was, allowed him clarity through pain. When the trembling dark gray foal was free of him Loki looked upon him with wonder. This was his. This was something he'd made. This was a child that he could love as Odin never loved him!

Despite his own reservations at the act he cleaned the colt's head and back, nuzzling him gently. When the foal rose to take his first few wobbling steps Loki was startled by the extra legs that hindered the colt's progress. Yet eventually he stood. He shook awkwardly, trying to come close to his mother. Loki felt the first swell of love for the unsteady creature he would call son and leaned over, pressing his muzzle to the colt's side to soothe him. The gray colt finally stumbled forward, falling a few times before finding how to use his legs. His first few shambling steps eventually took him to Loki's side where the colt leaned on him and sighed. Loki neighed softly in approval. He remained as a mare for several weeks, allowing the colt to feed (as uncomfortable as that had been) and gain further control of his legs. Loki always found himself nickering with laughter as his son clomped around, sometimes tripping on a leg or two. He named him Sleipnir. A Midgardian word that meant "slippy". It seemed appropriate.

He allowed Sleipnir to watch him transform, knowing the colt would balk with fright at sight of a man where a mare had been. The colt had indeed balked, falling back in a splay of legs with a frightened whinny before Loki reached out to him. Sleipnir smelled him, touched him, then finally was at peace. He knew his mother no matter the form. With that resting easily upon him Loki took his son home.

He would regret it for the rest of his days.

Odin had looked at the boy as if he were a bug rather than his grandchild. Loki felt the first sting of shame and anger mixing together. "Put that thing in the stable where it belongs Loki." Odin stated with disgust. "It does not belong in a throne room. Look at its legs! You should have drowned it."

Loki stared at the man with wide, horrified eyes. "Father...he is my son." Loki whispered with his hand resting on Sleipnir's side while the colt leaned on his legs, looking around curiously.

"He is a monster, Loki." Odin stated calmly, the word striking him like a blow. Finally, the king waved a hand. "Go on. Be off with you. Do as you wish with this creature."

He did. He took his son and fled, fearing Odin's actions. He stayed with Sleipnir in the stables, refusing to leave him. He brought books and all the artifacts of his magic with him, reading aloud to Sleipnir as he studied and continuing to learn the history of their world. He began to study Jotunheim, to study the icy magic used there. He left Sleipnir for an afternoon to examine an artifact in Odin's relic room. The Casket of Ancient Winters sang an unusual melody to him, so different from the sound of Asgardian magic. He'd been so entranced by the artifact's song that he accidentally touched the Casket with his bare hand. Rather than having his hand blacken with frostbite at the first moment as reported in the past, instead he turned blue...and felt no pain. As soon as he pulled his hand away, the blue flesh retreated, leaving him pale and whole once more. However, he knew what the blue meant. The Casket had been trying to make him into a frost giant!

Overcome with fear he'd left the chamber and found his parents, telling them that an artifact had nearly cursed him...an unforeseen side-effect of touching the Casket. He was unprepared for the look of shock, horror, and finally resignation that filled his mother's face. She told him not to concern himself with the Casket, to never touch it again. He was adamant. If the curse was an anomalous reaction to an Asgardian's touch then it must be studied, catalogued, tested! All aspects of the relic should be known before it would be taken to battle or returned to Jotunheim.

Odin coldly informed him that the Casket may only be touched by Jotun hands. He frowned thoughtfully for a moment. Then all of the past years, all of the cold glances from his father, the feeling of "Other" that had plagued him his entire life swelled up into his thoughts. He knew then that it was no adverse reaction, no curse. He wanted to hear them say it. With a shriek of fury and agony he demanded that they tell him the truth. It was then that she told him.

They were not his parents. This was not his world. He was the son of Laufey, King of Jotunheim...a hated frost giant. Even though the revelation came from Frigga, his beloved teacher, nothing could soften the blow. It had been a knife in the back he could not bear. Enraged, Loki had spat venomous words at them, his ire seemingly focused on Frigga whom he felt had betrayed him far more than Odin. At least Odin had not pretended to love him. At least Odin had been honest about his feeling toward the Jotun brat living unwanted in their midst. No matter what assurances Frigga offered that he was indeed their beloved child, he knew from the dark gaze of Odin over her shoulder that he was nothing more than a bargaining chip to keep Jotunheim from calling down war once more.

It was that day that he forsook his "parents" and left the throne room vanishing to the stables once more. It was that day that he pounded into his thoughts that he had no family in the palace. His only family now was here, with his son, now walking with some steadiness. Once some of the sting of betrayal left him he read more stories of Jotunheim, reading their myths and legends aloud to his son. Reading their stories, as colored by Asgardian prejudice as they'd been, he began to respect those hardy people and their straightforward culture. There was no intrigue in Jotunheim, only right and wrong, truth and lies. It only took him a few months after the revelation of his parentage to decide that he would go there. His only real difficulty was in deciding whether to take his young son away from Asgard into a world far more brutal and unforgiving. Loki was training him to walk without tripping. As he watched Sleipnir awkwardly shamble toward food and water he knew what needed to be done.

As much as Loki hated his once-parents, he would not remove his son from the safety of Asgard to brave a world of ice and war. He would stay in Asgard until his son could walk and run...he would teach him how to survive this place...assure him that he'd return. It took several months to assure the child alone, a year to help him walk steadily. He avoided all of Asgard during this time, even Thor who continually begged for words from him. Finally, he knew it was time. He needed to know. He had to meet his real father…had to see the land of his birth. Perhaps he could finally take his place as a true heir to a throne, bring his son to his side without fear of him being called "monster" ever again.


	2. Jotunheim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Loki's return to Jotunheim to see the land of his birth

Heimdall made a point of making Loki aware that, should there be any danger, the bifrost would not open. "Perhaps you might have your brother accompany you, Prince Loki." The guardian said carefully, aware that the young prince was actively avoiding his adopted family. Loki shook his head in answer, and his expression showed that he would offer no explanation or justification of his reasons. Loki didn't understand the guardian's hesitance to send him. Perhaps the Watcher was seeking once more to comfort the royal family. If Loki had his way they would soon lose him forever. Heimdall frowned at him then sighed and turned to open the bridge.

Loki's arrival in Jotunheim sparked a riot of sound and anger. He'd been isolated in Asgard, treated as a burden and a nuisance. In Jotunheim they seemed to actively seek his death. As the bifrost closed behind him he heard voices howling wordlessly in rage as Jotuns slowly surrounded him. He tried to soothe them by taking his Jotun form, shedding the magic Frigga and Odin had secretly placed on him to make him look Aesir. The Jotun closest to him paused, confusion written on their ridged brows.

Loki smiled, raising his hands to show that he was unarmed. "I am Loki, Son of Laufey...I have come home." The frost giant reared away from him as if he were a horrible creature, mouth opening in a sharp bellow of alarm. His introduction only seemed to further infuriate them. The giant grabbed his armor and began to drag him through their village, into the palace shaped from the heart of a glacier. He struggled, pushing at the giant's hands as he asked a litany of questions and received no answers. He couldn't understand. Was he not their prince? Was he not the lost son? He had thought to be met with some sort of joy or relief that he was home.

It was not so. _Runt. Bastard. Weakling._ _Liar._ Words he'd known were whispered by all of Asgard but never voiced in his presence were suddenly flung from hundreds of mouths like stones striking against him. The Jotun swarmed around him like angry bees, spitting curses and abuse while he was dragged roughly to be flung at the foot of Laufey's throne. He panted, looking up at the larger male with wide, hopeful eyes. Surely some welcome would be found there. Surely his father would clear the confusion and the anger, welcome him home at last. Meeting Laufey had been far more painful than any punishment ever meted out by Asgard's King.

Laufey looked on him with the same disdain Odin had cast at him though the expression was edged with murderous intent glittering in deep crimson eyes. Laufey rose slowly from the throne, looming above him from nearly 3 meters of height and Loki resisted the urge to cringe. Laufey moved toward him with a slow predatory stalk, then leaned down. He was so close that Loki could feel cool breath against his cheek as the king took a deep breath of his scent and uttered the words "I should have dashed you into the cliff when you were born." Loki's heart stopped, frozen with horror. Laufey smiled. "Though with you here now, Odin can hold nothing over me. To my shame you are my heir...a problem I can now remedy." Laufey raised his hand overhead, forming a coating of ice over his fist which formed into a deadly spike. "Your brother will make a far better king than you, Runt." Laufey added in a grumble and Loki felt his frozen heart shatter. It all became clear. He was no Jotun. Even here, where he shared the same flesh and blood, he did not belong. When Laufey's hand dropped in a terrible arch toward his heart he cried out from deep within. His magic reacted to the pain and the danger, flowing up through his veins and pouring from his body like a wave. And for the first time since he'd first touched magic he let all of his control slip away. In the heart of Jotunheim, he let his soul turn to fire.

His magic left him in a form to match all the pain of rejection, the agony of a broken heart and a shattered dream. Fire that flared green and coated him like a shield and armor scorched their icy palace and killed nearly all of Laufey's court, including Laufey himself. It had not been his intention. He wept a single tear over the dead king's charred body, touching the too-hot flesh of his once blue cheek briefly before finally leaving. None of the villagers approached him nor tried to stop him. The Jotuns looked upon him as exactly what he'd been in Asgard. A monster. He left the palace and stumbled into the icy wastes around him, cursing his unfettered emotions that had laid waste to an entire kingdom and murdered his own father. He'd allowed himself to hurt in front of another, allowed himself to be laid bare, and his magic had reacted accordingly. After days of wandering the ache subsided, leaving him feeling empty. This was meant to be his home! His family! Where would he and his child go now? What future was there now? As Loki licked his wounds in the ice-covered woods, news of Laufey's death and the nature of his murder traveled through the realm. Every giant in Jotunheim bayed for his blood to avenge their king, making him a threat to Asgard should he return. No matter how loud he cried out, the bifrost was closed to him. He could not return to his son. He was trapped until he was no longer a threat in Heimdall's eyes.

He remained in Jotunheim, a wanderer, a criminal. Much to his shame, he imagined that Sleipnir was happy without him. He mired himself in guilt and agony for an imagined loss both of his son and his true Father. He felt that Asgard would be forever closed to him and soon he would die here in the icy plains. Then he remembered his son, their struggles to remain close, his only true family, and swore that no matter the cost he'd return to him. He'd promised, after all. That was a promise he was determined to keep. He allowed himself to remain in the deep sapphire flesh of a Jotun, to protect himself from the cold. He used his claws and his desperation to teach him how to hunt. It was not Asgardian hunting, for pleasure and games. It was the savage hunting of one desperate to survive. He learned to savor the raw flesh of animals he'd killed for sustenance. Despite all of his rejection and anger toward Asgard, he refused to die. No matter how long the wait, he would find a way back to his son.

He found a cave to call home, storing meat and hide to keep himself warm and fed. He knew not how long he stayed in this cave or how long before he saw another being, but at the first voice in the woods he was drawn like a moth to flame. She was tall, eye to eye with him around 2 meters of height. He was loathe to admit was typical of Jotun women. Her hair was ink-black, pouring over her shoulders like a waterfall covering the deep cerulean of her skin. She had curved horns close to her head and circling her pointed ears while her features were different from any female's he'd known. Her cheekbones were high and sharp, her eyes a deep blood red, rimmed by long black lashes. Her nose was slightly marred by a bump where it had been broken once. Her lips were full and inviting, a darker shade of blue. She was trying to catch food with her bare hands, a rabbit that fled long ago while she waited at the entrance to the warren. He couldn’t help but smile again, moving from out of hiding. She didn’t notice him until he spoke to her, sending a greeting from several feet away. She whipped about and hissed, baring her fangs. He smiled wider.

Her vicious response was as charming to him as a flutter of butterfly wings.

He offered her food and shelter in his home. She gazed at him suspiciously before accepting. She never turned her back to him, stating that he would walk ahead and enter the cave ahead of her. He allowed it, confident that even should she attack him he would hear her. Once in the cave he motioned for her to sit and gave her a portion of his own stored food. As she ate he asked her what she might have so far from the Jotun cities and villages. He expected her to ignore him or tell him to mind his own business. She sighed, her eyes going dark with woe for but a moment. "I have been driven away. I refused to take my 'proper place as a woman' and it was decided that my mind had been taken by an evil spirit." She snorted, cracking a bone in a closed fist. "Foolish."

Loki smiled once more. "Anyone that has seen you would know there is more to you than that." He stated and she turned to look at him as if he'd spoken in another language.

There was a long silence before she whispered, "What do you mean by that?"

He tipped his head, eyebrow arching slightly. "You are a survivor...a warrior of a battle against nature. You were cast aside. Rather than collapsing with shame or begging for forgiveness you stood your ground. That is brave for anyone, man or woman."

She stared at him, crimson eyes wide with surprise. When she turned away her voice was soft. "Clearly _you_ aren't a fool." She stated and he chuckled. "Where are you from to have such thoughts, stranger?"

Loki considered for a moment then shrugged. "I am from here...from nowhere. This is the only home I've made for myself." He said finally and she looked at him with new suspicion.

"Then what is your name, cryptic one?" She asked, her voice dripping with derision.

Loki didn't allow but a moment to think, leaning back slightly as if offended by being called cryptic. "I am Hveðrungr." He said and she frowned slightly.

"'Weather-maker', hm?" She muttered, using her claws to pick marrow from inside the broken bone she held. "Perhaps you could keep the frost at bay long enough to get me some water then." She finally said, popping the tissue into her mouth and he laughed. He saw her mouth quirk slightly into a smile.

He was sure that tiny smile was the smile that won his heart.

He found that they called her Angrboða: "She who offers sorrow." He took it upon himself to call her Ørlǫglauss: "She upon whom fate has not yet been imposed." She said it was a mouthful of a moniker. He thought it fitting. She eventually agreed, the more he used it. After several months she admitted that found the name slightly more flattering...but only slightly. She often called him bacraut*, which he found totally unflattering but amusing nevertheless.

They spent every moment together. He taught her to use a spear. She soon surpassed him, becoming a relentless hunter with deadly accuracy. Several months had passed when they sat near a small fire, her head leaned on his shoulder as they relaxed after a long day's hunt and she quietly asked, "What is your real name?"

He went stiff with surprise for but a moment then looked at her with an arched brow and a snort of surprise. "What are you talking about?"

She did not look at him, simply watching the fire. "You were quick to give me a new name." She said simply and he scoffed, moving to rise. She rose with him, reaching up to fist her hand in his hair and drag his head down. He found himself suddenly kneeling before the woman and growled as anger surged up in him. "You're smaller." She said bluntly and he froze, the anger quickly dying. "You act like no other Jotun man, your horns are still short...and you call for the Once-King Laufey in your sleep." He raised his head to stare up at her. He'd planned to reassure her of his honesty and that Hveðrungr was truly his name. The words suddenly stuck in his throat, trapped by the lump of misery at mention of his now-dead father. Though her hand never left its grip in his hair her eyes were soft with sadness, her hand gentle as she reached to brush her fingertips along his jaw. "Tell me. Give me your truth."

He struggled for a moment then his eyes closed. Sensing the crumbling of his will her fist uncoiled from where it held him so that she could take his face in both her hands. He leaned into the caress, one hand coming up to cover hers. It took him a long moment to finally speak but she let him have it, simply watching his face as he struggled. Finally he said, "I am Loki Laufeyson. I was once of Asgard, taken by Odin as a babe...now I am of nowhere."

He heard her take a deep breath, felt her pulse quicken slightly with the shock of the revelation, then her arms came around him, drawing him close and pulling him up from where he knelt. "You are of here." She said softly. "You are with me. This is your home. Whatever names we take that will always be truth."

His breath came in a short sharp gasp before he wound arms around her, burying his face against her collarbone. There was a pain in his chest, an ache he'd never known. This was not the agony of defeat. This was an acceptance of him as he was that filled him to bursting with relief. This was real love.

This was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *bacraut - asshole

**Author's Note:**

> I realize that this is not a close adherence to Norse mythology. I have read and allowed it to inspire several concepts (still in works).
> 
> Comments and questions are welcome.


End file.
